Falling Apart
by Slayergirl
Summary: Post Bloodlines  for which spoiler alert, sort of . Some canon angst, very mild, but mainly fluffy despite the title. Rating for gratuitous Harry/Nikki-ness. One-shot.


**Falling Apart**

You feel Harry's lips brush your hairline, and you nearly cry, because not so long ago you thought he was dead, and your world had fallen apart. And his world had fallen apart, too, when he found out that his girlfriend, who'd been murdered, had been carrying his child. You thought then that it would never happen, that you were doomed, but this evening has taken you by surprise.

It had started out normally enough. You and Leo and Harry had gone for a drink after work, even closer now, after Harry's 'death' than before. Janet had joined you later, and eventually she and Leo had gone home, leaving you and Harry in the bar. You'd both been hungry, and Harry had surprised you by holding his hand out to you. You'd taken it, a little uncertainly because it seemed different to other times he'd held your hand, and you'd gone in search of food. You'd got a takeaway, and ended up at his place, because it was comfier and, if you're honest, tidier than yours. Not to mention nearer. You'd had dinner, a bottle of wine, and had started watching a film the way you often did. And you thought that, maybe, the hand-holding was just friendly, an affectionate gesture, and you'd read too much in to it.

So you relaxed back into Harry's sofa and watched the film, trying not to think too much about might-have-beens, and the storyline punched you in the gut. Because it's you and Harry, isn't it, where the girl doesn't say anything, and doesn't say anything, and doesn't say anything, and the guy doesn't know she feels that way and goes out with loads of other girls, and then he dies, and she wishes she'd said something… and suddenly you're crying, and Harry's noticed, and mutes the TV, and tugs you into his arms with a look that's so full of understanding and compassion that it physically hurts you, and you sob even harder into his chest, clinging onto him as if for dear life. Maybe you are.

And he holds you close, and doesn't say anything, and strokes your hair, and nuzzles the side of your face, but instead of it calming you down, as it always has done before, you just keep on crying. So he holds you closer, and even when you try to pull away, he doesn't let go. He kisses the side of your face, the top of your head, your hairline… and with a last gasp, you shudder into silence. No tears left to cry, you simply wrap your arms around him and nestle closer to him, breathing in the familiar scent of him. You're calm, now, and wonder if it's wrong of you to want to stay like that forever.

"I'm sorry," you mumble into his shirt. He shrugs, and you feel the muscles in his shoulders move, and get a funny feeling in your tummy that you haven't felt in so long, you almost wonder what it is.

"Don't be." His lips brush your hairline again, and you feel weak, helpless, and for the first time, instead of fighting it, you give into it, and let yourself just feel it. Your eyelids flicker closed as he drops tiny kisses down the side of your face, and your lips part softly as his reach the corner of your mouth, his fingers rifling through your hair. His nose nudges yours, and his lips are almost touching yours, when he whispers, "this okay?"

You gulp, and, unable to speak, just nod.

"Just… stop me if…" he murmurs, and a shudder goes through you as you realise what he means, what he's intending, and everything seems to ache for him, like it's never ached for anyone before. "Nikki, promise me… you'll tell me if…"

"Promise," you gasp out, your whole body trembling, trying to get closer to him. You seriously doubt there's any real need for that, but you say it to make him happy. God knows, stopping him is the last thing you want, but you're strangely touched by his consideration for you.

You thought that, when it happened – _if_ it happened – you'd both be so consumed with need and desire that it would be over quickly. And though the need and desire is clearly very much in evidence, Harry's taking this slowly. Really slowly, so slowly it's the sweetest torture you've ever known, and you want it to be over _now_, but at the same time go on forever… and all he's done is kiss you and slide one warm, gentle hand under your top to tease and caress you, and when did Harry find out exactly what you want, what you need, what turns you on? You realise it was when he figured out it was him.

You whimper a little at that thought, and angle your head so that he can kiss your neck, and _melt _when he finds exactly the right spot unerringly. Your hands don't know whether they want to be in his hair or stroking down his back or his chest, or running greedily over his arms, but then he flicks his tongue over that spot behind your ear that makes you shiver, and you arch into him with a gasp that he can't help but understand as a plea for more. You can feel him smile against the sensitive skin, pleased you're enjoying this, and you can't help but love the fact that it satisfies him this much to make you feel this way. You want to do the same for him, but your movements are sluggish, your muscles so relaxed right now, that all you can do is let Harry do whatever he wants. And really, isn't that what you want, too, if you're honest?

You realise he's the only man you've ever wanted to give yourself to, wholly and completely and forever. Your stomach clenches, not in fear or denial, but in a gut-wrenching feeling that this could really be _it_, this could actually be the beginning of that forever, and there's a wild, free joy in your heart that you've never felt before, and you want more than ever to give everything you are to Harry. As if sensing your thoughts, he eases your top over your head, discards your bra, and impatiently pulls his t-shirt off. You've never been one for girly, swoony moments, but you're close to it now. You try to unbutton your jeans, but your fingers seem suddenly clumsy; but Harry, somehow, is still in control.

"You want these off?" he murmurs, smiling a little as you nod, and make some incoherent sound of assent. His fingers are as deft as you'd always imagined them to be on those long, lonely nights at home when you'd imagine what it would be like to be with him, all the time chastising yourself mentally for thinking about your best friend like this. You can't find any words to say when he pulls you easily to your feet, hands pushing the jeans and remaining underwear down to your ankles. You wobble a little, your legs not really wanting to hold you up, but Harry catches you before you can fall. "It's okay, I've got you," he reassures you. "I'm not going to drop you."

You feel a little dizzy and breathless, maybe because your breathing's now so shallow you can't be getting enough oxygen, and all you can do is hold on to Harry, lean against him, and trust him not to drop you. You hold onto him as he swings you up into his arms and carries you to his room, setting you down carefully in the centre of the bed while he shucks off the rest of his clothes before joining you there. The warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, and you reach out for him. He's lying on top of you now, moving against you slowly and teasingly as he kisses along your jawline, his hands lightly holding yours by the side of your face. You know he's holding you there, that he could pin you down if he wanted to, but the gentle pressure he's exerting gives you the option of escape, if you want it. But you find it intensely erotic to stay there a prisoner entirely of your own free will, pinned there more by your desire for him than by his hands. You want to give him this power over you, surrender utterly to him. You've never wanted anything like this before, preferring to remain slightly aloof, untouchable, but you want to give Harry everything.

You cry out as you feel him finally entering you, and to your bewilderment he stops. "Did I hurt you?" he whispers, and you shake your head vehemently, clutching at the hands that are still softly holding yours.

"Want… you… so… much…" you manage to gasp out, not knowing where the words came from, or how you formulated them, because you can't even think straight right now. "Please… Harry…"

Then he's inside you, and you're gasping for breath and crying, though you don't know why, and it's like a floodwave has been set free, something held inside you all this time suddenly bursting from its bonds and shattering around you, inside you, and you're burning and drowning and flying all at once, and it never felt this good before… and you buck helplessly into his body as you feel his reaction to you, and all thoughts fly out of your head. You're dimly aware of him nipping at your neck, just where it's most sensitive, and give in to everything. You hear screaming as if from a distance, and realise it's you, and you're astonished, because you've never screamed like that before, and didn't know you could.

You draw a shuddering breath as the world returns to normal, and wonder if it's ever going to be truly normal again. But you like this better than normality, so really, you hope it isn't. You almost object when Harry lets go of your hands, and wonder at yourself – you've always been in control before, but you were so out of control just now that it's almost as if you were a different person. You wonder, too, how it is that Harry knew instinctively what it was you wanted, what you needed, what you absolutely _craved_ from him, when it seemed so totally out of character. And yet, with him holding you there – so gently you could easily have pulled away, if you'd wanted – you'd felt, ironically, so free; free to be and do everything you'd ever wanted.

To be yourself.

You blink fuzzily at him as he lies on his side next to you, stroking your hair with such tenderness you're on the verge of melting again. You realise he understands you completely, knows you completely, that he can look deep inside you without turning away at the ugly bits, and love you anyway. You're still a little shaken that he picked up on that particular fantasy, though.

"How did you know?" you ask him.

He just smiles. "Lucky guess?" he suggests blandly.

"Are you always this good at guessing?" you tease lightly. You don't pursue it; somehow, you rather like the idea that there's no logical, rational explanation, that he just knows you that well that he can tell.

He strokes a hand down your side, smiling. "I hope to find out."

You gulp at the heat you can see in his eyes, and hope fervently for the same thing. Maybe it was worth all that heartache to get you both to this point.

You feel Harry's lips brush your hairline, and you nearly cry, because not so long ago you thought he was dead, and your world had fallen apart. But this time, it was you falling apart completely and utterly in his arms, and life won't be the same again.

You don't regret it for a second.


End file.
